Recovery: Or how to survive a birthday party

Hottie

So Saturday we celebrated our son’s fourth birthday.

I know! I’m wondering not only how we managed to survive four years of parenthood, but also how we managed to survive our first party where we invited some of his friends.

It is, frankly, a miracle.

Tough love and Rocket ships

Under construction…

Today is going to be a great day. I just know it I woke up knowing it. Vince woke up super chipper. Eleanor woke up with gooey smiles. Clearly the day is already earmarked to be amazing. Hopefully I haven’t just screwed myself with my overabundance of optimism.

4 weeks into being a stay-at-home-mom and things are slowly starting to improve. Last week was a week of tough love. But that tough love seems to have created a little boy who is determined to listen to me. Hallelujah! I’ll let you in on my secret.

Timebomb: A tale of bowling and jealousy

Vince woke up this morning with one thought on his mind.

Bowling.

I know right? I was thinking the same thing… What on earth??! It’s completely the fault of Scooby Doo. Or actually, my fault since I bought a few ridiculous Scooby Doo books for Vince (don’t do it!!). Books which apparently featured bowling enough that I had to explain it and since then he’s been fascinated. He’s reminded  me that I had mentioned we could go at some point.He asked again yesterday and I thought why the heck not? Sure! Let’s go bowling on Friday morning.

Epiphany

A few days ago, I was driving  through the parking lot at Publix and I braked and waved a mum and her 2 kids across the traffic. Her hand lifted in a ‘thank you’ wave and then practically leapt down and latched on to her 4 year old’s hand. Her younger child had a pained look on her face and her little fingers twisted and turned and fought the grip her mum had on her.

I literally had an epiphany.

Oh my gosh. It’s not just me. My son is not the only child in the whole world that hates having his hand held. It is, in fact, all children everywhere in the whole entire.

Funnily enough, this was really a kind of shocking epiphany. I think as you are parenting, it is very hard to remember that what you are doing is what all parents are doing everywhere. Even though it very well may be the most frustrating thing ever, or the grossest thing ever. Or the sweetest thing ever. Whatever those things are, they are being repeated endlessly everywhere.

So two days of really awful diarrhea? Yup, that’s going on somewhere.

A 3 year old, running carelessly around the YMCA pool deck with his father shouting at him? Yup, that too.

Asking for a hug before bedtime and getting “No, maybe later Mummy” as a response. Most likely this is happening in every single home around the world simultaneously.

And just to complain for a second, I had to force a hug from my child tonight. First time. Every night I usually get joyous hugs and smooches, without  even asking for them.

Tonight, Edward picked up Vince, handed him to me and then placed his arms around my neck, mimicking a hug. Half a second later, V wiggled out of my arms and proclaimed it was Daddy’s night and essentially banished me to the living room.

Hm. It appears as if my years of overly loving on my son might be approaching their end.

Nothing like a little Angry Birds to relax...

But, at the same time, it really does help to have these epiphanies. Because honestly it is really easy to forget that you are not the only one going through all of this ridiculous, dramatic, wailing, flailing, smart-mouthed, talking back, pooping everywhere (or nowhere) life.

Everyone else is too. Don’t forget.

xoxo a.m.

Please try to not pull all your hair out, ok?

Cheerfully polishing a fry-pan, I prepared to beat myself over the head with it...

Or at least that’s what I tried not to do yesterday with Vince.

Check out my sweet parenting logic:

In order to get ones child to eat more veggies, buy more veggies. With this in mind, yesterday Vince and I hit Pubes (aka Publix) for some healthy lunch things for me. As I picked out my veggies, Vince asked “What doing, Mummy?”

Mummy: “Buying some veggies, honey.”

Vince: *curiously* “Oh! I like veggies too!!”

Mummy: “You do? Do you like broccoli?”

Vince: “No, I no like broccoli. I like veggies.”

Mummy: “I like broccoli, it’s yummy. AND it makes you strong!”

Vince: “I’m stronger! I like broccoli! I want to eat it! In my mouth!”

Ok, I can handle this. I went and bought one of those Amy’s Organic kids meals (did I mention I was about falling over from exhaustion? And that is why I bought a microwave meal for my child. The End.) Anyways, it had broccoli in it and Vince promised to eat it and the macaroni that came with.

So home we went and I ‘cooked’ dinner for him. He sort of dragged his feet at eating and I sort of ended up ‘encouraging’ him to do it. Scooping up a little spoonful of noodles, I handed it to him. “No Mummy! NOOOOOOO! I can’t eat it! It’s too much!:

?? Too much? There were precisely 3 noodles on that spoon.

“No Mummy, like dis,” he proclaimed solemnly as he proceeded to flick off two of the noodles from the spoon. “And dats enough,” he said. And then he ate ONE noodle.

And then he ate ONE more noodle. And then he ate individual noodles for 5 minutes. I swear I was almost bald by the time dinner was over. It was the only way I could remain patient. And sane. I might have moaned out-loud repeatedly.

And then? He refused to eat broccoli.

“No Mummy, YOU like veggies. You eat it.”

Alright FINE.

I will baldly eat YOUR broccoli and enjoy it, dammit. DAMMIT!

xoxo a.m.

Revenge pee

Things to Google:

Revenge Pee

And, of course, it is my son that leads me to Google things like this. The majority of knowledge I have gained from my son in the last 3 years is urine and feces related. Google is my best friend. It has helped me learn  lots of things, most of which are regarding how to remove odors and stains from various fabric-type materials.

For the last 3 weeks or so, a particular pattern has been developing. One which has, honestly, been rather hard to figure out. Periodically V will just pee. A sort of no-warning situation. Often times it’s as a result of a stressful situation, or a situation he just doesn’t approve of. Or, mostly, something he disapproves of.

Or we’d fight, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Through his shorts. Or, I’d say no, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Sometimes he’d just run off to a corner of the livingroom, pretend to play with his toys and then announce “Mummy. I peed. Right der.”

*sigh*

But finally I made the connection. Revenge pee. Dude.

Telling one of my friends about my theory, she thought “Did you see if there is anything online? Probably there is a Mum that has dealt with it already…”

Well, I did learn a whole bunch of interesting stuff about people who take revenge on other people by peeing on their stuff. Animals too. Not peeing on animals, I mean. Just animals that revenge pee. That’s what you get when you Google ‘revenge pee’.

When, however, you Google ‘Children pee’ you get all sorts of shizzle. Info that, frankly, I have no interest in really reading as I am living the dream and am pretty sure that all Mum’s are doing the same things that I am. There honestly is not that many actual options.

Comfort (if it was indeed an accident) or reassure.

Obviously clean up is a MAJOR part of the operation.

As of yet, there is no punishment. It is so a total ‘f-you Mummy, let me have my own way!!’ that I pretty much cannot have any real reaction. Maybe an eyebrow raise. Oh, and a Mummy-face. One that I am still perfecting as it has a 50-50 response rate.

Today was a good day though. No revenge peeing. Plus V actively asking to use the potty. AND he pooped. TWICE. ON the potty.

Despite my total exhaustion and low levels of everything (Family health issues that I will not be discussing, except to say that there are some. They make me sad. And I am trying very hard to be adult about them), V filled that potty the m-f-ing up.

Which, I admit, in hind-sight type-wise sounds a little gross, but for real. We were super high-fiving each other and I did not have to clean up any poo from any non-toilet surface today.

Now I have totally lost my train of thought. Pretty sure it’s about pee. Probably poo too. It is my life, after all.

Anyways, any tips on surviving revenge peeing?

xoxo a.m.

Just a random post about hair

So for a couple of years, I really embraced my dark side. I think the last time I had dark hair it must have been high school when I dyed my hair black. I paired that with some lovely steel-toed boots, an army surplus jacket and some gauzy printed fabric dresses. And some fish nets. LORD. That was the 90’s. So really, I think there are no excuses.

So I had really dark auburn hair while pregnant with Vince. I loved it. Vince was born with not a lot of hair. But what there was, well it was dark. And Edward has dark hair. Logical, no?

(And as a secret aside, my roots are just a plain ol’ brown. In the Summer it bleaches easily in the sun, in the winter it darkens naturally. Apparently, my hair is easy)

ANYWAYS…

Vince’s hair, when he was little really looked like it was going to be dark like Daddy’s. He did get the dark eyes after all, he is a clone of his father so I honestly thought the hair would follow.

But, as he grew, it became apparent that his hair had a mind of it’s own. It, as I came to know, did not want to be like Daddy. In fact, it seems that it took pity on me and thought it would lean in my genetic direction and spiral the F out of the top of his head.

When he was one, it was rather short and easy to take care of. When he was two, oh gosh was it cute, curly, blonde, adorable. Recently people say weird things to me like “How’s you streak his hair like that?” and “Is that his natural colour?”.

Today someone said “Oh, he is too cute. So gorgeous. Those curls? Remind me of a little girl…. *sigh*…” Thank you Target employee for pointing out that ‘Yes’, it is, in fact, time for my son to get a haircut.

But every morning that I wake him up and see myself reflected in his clown hair, ugh. UGH. I just can’t. Can’t comb it, for one. Can’t stop laughing for two. Can’t cut it. Can’t seem to get it cut. Can’t put much effort into trying to cut it.

Which is not to say that I have tried. (Once) Which was just last week. Not sure if that counts as actively pursuing the hair-situation.

I think I just cannot help adoring the reflection of me in him. And probably, after he gets older, I will probably curse it and say things to his father and blame it all on him.

But oh the hair. Oh that darn hair…. I will bawl like a baby when those curls get cut. Maybe I just better have another baby and pray to God that its a girl so I can indulge in curlfest…

I am honestly making an effort to organize a haircut. I promise to take pictures. And souvenirs…

xoxo a.m. (clown car hair-style)

Things that happened this weekend..

… things that I didn’t tell you.

Things you might not even care about? Or maybe you do. Aw, I know you do!! You love us!

You love Edward (who doesn’t?!). And who can’t love a saucy Canadian and a plump, cheeky 2 year old? Literally, its impossible.

V had multiple booboo’s this weekend. Some of which he announced to me while I was driving. A booboo must be kissed by Mummy, that’s just the way things go. It is very difficult to kiss a booboo when one is driving and, say, the booboo is on a plump little foot that is being thrust towards you from the back seat. And then there is crying because you don’t pull over and kiss it.

So I suggested that Vince kiss his own booboo. And to my surprise, he did. And when I finally stopped the car at our destination? He didn’t want any additional kisses from me. And then I felt hurt, because I wanted to kiss those little plump, slightly smelly feet. Sad disappointment, eh?

I went back to the organic farm this morning with V, post-thunder storm. Pulling into the makeshift parking lot, our tires clung and stuck to the mud that we churned up. And as I got out of the car and walked over to V’s side, my flip-flops slurped and stuck with every step and I had a ‘My Cousin Vinny” flashback.

Inside, we picked up a stir-fry greens pack, some farm-fresh eggs and some goats cheese. Vince picked up some basil and squished it. And so I picked that up too.

On the way home, the car had the most delicious aroma. That basil was strong, it permeated everything. I literally would have rubbed it on my wrists, the aroma was so gorgeous.

Post-farm trip, I hit the sidewalks for another run. A repeat 5k, just in my immediate neck of the woods. Of course, I run as a super-thunder storm approaches. Mid mile number 2, Edward calls: “Do you want me to pick you up? I saw lightning.”

Me: “No, I think I’m ok. I haven’t seen any here. It isn’t raining yet either. I’ll call you”.

This? Because I was determined to do 3 miles and was pissed that I’d logged 1 1/2. And happily ignored the suspiciously black clouds that looked like they might be maybe right on top of me.

7 minutes later, I rang Edward “Hey!! Hi! Can you pick me up?!?!”. Oh his face was something to behold when he picked up my wet, smiling mug at the shelter of the YMCA overhang.

My response? Pure cheek.

Literally that is the only thing that would have been a good response. He is Italian, after all….

xoxo a.m.

Tequila fail

Update: Vince has graduated to telling me that he’s going to pee in the bathtub and forbidding me to peek in the back of his diaper. Super.

Apparently July is the month of lazy blogging. Sorry all, it’s just been one hell of a busy, dirty, sticky month.

Edward is still on Summer holiday, V is home with him and I am at work fulltime.

I feel left out.

Did you know that I have no idea how to do a tequila shot? I really thought I did but apparently, it’s true, I don’t. Actually, while I was preparing to do a shot, I realized that I had no idea what I was doing.

Thankfully I was around other skilled people, one of which literally reached across in the middle of my mini-monologue and swipe a lemon in the crux of my thumb and dusted it lightly with salt.

Yup. Tequila.

This is how a nerd does a tequila shot.

First, chew on lemon. Then, drink tequila. Finally? Lick salt. And finally finally? Drink rest of tequila.

Lord. Who am I? A 17 year old? I honestly can’t remember the last time I did a shot. And clearly neither did my mouth. Since it was the one that chose that lemon first.

Regardless, that Patron went down nicely. And the rest of that afternoon went down just as smoothly. Thanks Roys for your hospitality. And tequila. And tacos.

That blissful evening was followed by one of the exact opposite.

Screaming, puking, crying and endless cries of “Mummy too. MUMMY TOO! TOOOOOO!!”

I went to bed at about 8:30, post dinner (me) and post-puke (him). There was nothing that we could do that could make it right. Nothing at all. And certainly not his own bed, all by himself that is. As soon as I laid him down in our bed, he went to sleep. And as soon as I tried to move him somewhere else, he woke up and sobbed until I put him back.

Brutal. I mean I say that, but it really was. It wasn’t just that one time, it was multiple times. So much sobbing and crying and just general snotty noses and ickiness.

We were exhausted, still are actually.

And so? On that note, we are going to bed.

xoxoxo a.m.

Fourth and dreaming

Long weekend, I had delicious expectations for you. Everyone always does. I dreamt of dreaming. I dreamt of sleeping and the dreams that come with.

Alas, you disappoint me.

What is up with the 4:15 wake-up call from the Wee Man on Saturday morning? And then this morning’s 3:15 am cry-a-thon and subsequent removal to the ‘Big Bed’ for cuddles. Sleeping with a 2-year-old is a mess. Thrashing, light sleeping and dragon breath. Not from me, from the Wee Man.

Last night was a rough bedtime for him. He just couldn’t let me go. We have been having a hard time with bedtimes lately, me especially. M, apparently is a night-time God, who can make children fall asleep with the snap of his fingers.

This is intensely annoying to me as, after all, I was the one who was able to make V sleep with just the simple stroke of my hand on his back. My powers must be waning.

Ack.

Anyways, Dragon breath apparently derives from when a child cries and coughs so much because they are so upset you are not lying next to them in their teeny tiny wee bed, spending the night with you that they work themselves up to a state where, perhaps, they cough and cry and maybe throw-up a little?

This is a total hypothesis.

His breath smelled like vomit, but there was no puke evidence. Anywhere. So this is where my mind went.

Anyways, it is disgusting, as I am sure that you can imagine. I not only didn’t sleep well after V and I were cuddling,  but after several hours of sleeping face to face and having him blow that directly into my mouth I gave up and got out of bed.

So tonight, the Fourth, is my last chance for a good nights sleep. I am just a huge selfish bitch, I know.

But it is. And right now all of my neighbours are celebrating the 4th by having a huge fireworks display that actually is almost directly below V’s bedroom. I went out to the porch and watched some of it and had a feeling that V would have been rather scared of it. He didn’t enjoy the sparkler that we waved around earlier. His eyes got really big and he made no move towards them at all.

How he hasn’t woken up by now, I have no idea.

I have high hopes for tonight. High hopes for a restful sleep, a delicious 6:30 or 7 am wake-up (how lame am I!) and another delicious 2 miler before it gets super hot.

Monday has all the ear-markings of awesomeness. *If* we can first get through this night.

See? Just like most of my posts are. Starts off on a poo note (or a vomit one in this case) and ends on a lovely one.

Gosh I’m clever.

xoxo a.m.